Keep the Faith
by Floralia
Summary: Dean discovers that physical separation isn’t the only way you can lose a loved one. Set between HotH and BUABS. Co-written with Sendintheclowns for Gidgetgal9's birthday.
1. Chapter 1

**Keep the Faith**

Summary: Dean discovers that physical separation isn't the only way you can lose a loved one. Set between HotH and BUABS. Co-written with Sendintheclowns for Gidgetgal9's birthday.

A/N - sendintheclowns: Floralia and I did it...we actually finished a story together. It's not exactly the plot line you requested but I think you'll enjoy it. I have to thank Floralia for agreeing to write with me; she had to put up with my obsessive-compulsive disorder this time and, miracle of miracles, she's still talking to me. And a huge thank you to BlueEyedDemonLiz for providing beta services on this one. She came up with some really good ideas and was a joy to work with. Happy Birthday Gidget! You're such a great friend, plot master and confidante. This one's for you...

A/N – Floralia: My first joint writing project! Huge thanks to Sendintheclowns for agreeing to tackle this with me, and for having to work around the fact what I say I'm going to write is usually quite different to what I actually produce. Thanks to BlueEyedDemonLiz for the beta, it was appreciated. And Happy Birthday Gidgetgal9! We took some edited highlights from your suggestion, but hopefully it's close enough. Thanks for the help and encouragement, the stories, and being a great friend. We hope you enjoy…

Chapter 1

The highway running through Nebraska was flat and boring, much like the ride out from Rhode Island.

Sam had been depressingly quiet, refusing to rise to Dean's big brother baiting. The whole 'wanting to believe in angels' thing had really shaken Sam to the core and his little brother preferred to stew in his own thoughts rather than talk to Dean.

Not that Dean had anything earth shattering to say. He'd come away from the gig in Rhode Island thinking that maybe, just maybe, there was a higher power. Not that he'd ever admit it out loud. Because really, what were the odds that a metal pipe would just happen to slide off a truck and impale the man who had tried raping a woman only moments before? Not good. Talk about a cosmic gotcha. And it had happened right in front of Dean.

The brothers had talked a little in Providence about what Dean had seen but he was shocked that his little brother had left it at that. So much for emo-Sam. Dean knew he should be grateful Sam didn't want to put his feelings under a microscope. It's just that he got a little lonely without his brother getting all over his case.

When Sam had deigned to speak to his older brother after much badgering, Dean had almost wished he'd remained silent; Sam had shared that Nebraska got its name from a Chiwere word meaning "flat water." Well, they definitely had the flat part right. Although the corn didn't seem to mind. Dean had never seen so much freaking corn in one place in all his life. Mile after mile. The Cornhusker state. Yeah, someone got that one right.

This wasn't Dean's first trip to this state. The last visit had left a mark on Dean but when Bobby had asked them to do a favor for him, he hadn't argued. Of course the favor was in Nebraska, the place Dean had almost lost his heart. Literally. And where Layla Rourke had most likely lost her life. But Dean refused to dwell on that at the moment. It was bad enough having one melancholy Winchester in the car. There was definitely no room for two.

Mind numbing small talk aside, Dean had gotten sick of his own thoughts and had rummaged through his cassette collection. Sometimes playing music at ear splitting levels really was the cure for whatever ailed a person. He'd popped in Led Zeppelin's _Houses of the Holy_ a while ago and at the moment the reggae-based "D'yer Mak'er" spilled out of the speakers, and Dean was relieved to see Sam's stiff posture loosening, his fingers keeping time on his knee.

Driving straight through would have taken twenty-three hours but they'd stopped for meals and gas so it had taken longer. And being cooped up in the Impala with someone who was giving you the silent treatment, intentionally or not, made for a looong journey. The prospect of being stuck with Sam for the drive to South Dakota for five more hours in his current state, after they retrieved the book for Bobby, had struck terror into Dean's heart.

But if Sam was finally mellowing out, this might not be so bad. Time to put it to the test. "Hey, what's the address of that book store?"

This time Sam didn't grunt. Or roll his eyes. Or sigh. He actually answered. In a full sentence. "Esoterica is off of Main Street at 3204 Wells Street. Bobby said it's a little hole in the wall store but it's around the corner from Taco Bell. Can't miss it."

"What? There's a Taco Hell here? We have got to make a run for the border."

"Don't you mean a run for the bathroom? No way, Dean. I'm not subjecting my stomach to that place."

This is what Dean had missed. Teasing and bantering. His brother acting, well, like his brother. Not all broody and boring. Sure, Sam had his moods but he wasn't really capable of holding onto them for long when he was around Dean.

And if Sam perked up, then Dean would have less time to obsess about Layla.

-0-

Sam hadn't meant to shut the whole world out for the majority of the ride. In fact he hated when he did that. It was all fine and dandy to worry about something until he made sense of it, but it wasn't cool to leave Dean high and dry while they crossed over most of the states on their way to Nebraska. His brother hated being ignored.

He'd been rattled by what had happened in Providence. There was no way around it. He'd really let himself believe that angels existed. Hell, he'd been sure he'd seen one. That redemption was in his grasp. And then _poof_. Nothing. Just a huge, empty hole where his faith used to be.

And now they were going back to Nebraska. Where the faith healer, Roy Le Grange, had singled Dean out when his heart failed him. Only it was Sue-Ann, Roy's wife, who had manipulated a reaper into taking other lives in exchange for the ones Roy "healed." Marshall Hall had given his life, innocently jogging along, so that Dean could live. And Layla Rourke had been next in line for healing when the racket had been exposed.

Sam had been saddened and felt his share of guilt, but ultimately Dean was alive and that was all that mattered to him.

Coming back to Nebraska stirred all sorts of uncomfortable memories. Sam was a little afraid that being back here would trigger Dean's depression; he still couldn't believe his brother had contemplated giving up his life to the Crossroads Demon to bring their dad back. And now Dean was saddled with a total misfit for a brother. Someone who could go darkside at any moment.

Sam's thoughts kept going round and round and he needed to stop. Before he lost his mind.

The Jamaican beat of "D'yer Mak'er" caught his attention. He forced himself to look around and was amazed to see a sign proclaiming they were already in Nebraska and fast approaching their destination. The whole ride was a blur to him.

Sam needed to get his act together, and fast.

Dean startled him out of his thoughts. "Hey, what's the address of that book store?"

He had to work to pull it out of his memory but he finally recited the information Bobby had given them over the phone. "Esoterica is off of Main Street at 3204 Wells Street. Bobby said it's a little hole in the wall store but it's around the corner from Taco Bell. Can't miss it."

Dean snorted and Sam turned to find a huge smile gracing his brother's face. "What? There's a Taco Hell here? We have got to make a run for the border."

Ugh. Sam hated that fast food chain. "Don't you mean a run for the bathroom? No way, Dean. I'm not subjecting my stomach to that place."

But even as he said those words, he knew he'd give in. It was crappy how he'd mentally checked out on his brother, leaving Dean to amuse himself. They'd get the grimoire Bobby needed so desperately for some project he was working on, hit the Taco Bell and then head back out. Hopefully his stomach would cooperate with the plan.

He spotted the Taco Bell on Main Street. Wow, he'd really lost a chunk of time while he'd tried to make heads or tails out of what had happened with Father Gregory. Hell, more like everything that had happened since Dean had showed up in his and Jess's apartment.

"Hang a right. Looks like we're here."

Dean complied with his navigational instructions and soon they were pulling into an underground parking structure a couple of blocks down. There was no street parking to be had in the downtown area.

His brother grumbled as he took the parking slip. Knowing Dean, he'd find a way to get out of the garage without validating the slip and paying.

They made their way out into the bright sunshine, shading their eyes as they left the dark parking structure.

"Why is that you, Dean?"

Both of them were surprised as a small woman approached them on the sidewalk. They really didn't know anyone in Nebraska.

And then Sam got a good look at her face. "Mrs. Rourke."

"Yes, and you're the brother. Sam, isn't it?"

Up close, Sam could see that Mrs. Rourke had dark grooves under her listless eyes. Her mouth was twisted in a perpetual frown. He instantly recognized what the woman was experiencing. Grief.

Nodding his head, yes, Sam indicated she had the right person. "We're very sorry about Layla."

Tears threatened to spill from her eyes but she fought to control them. "Yes, I bet you're sorry. Layla was a wonderful daughter. She died much too young."

There was no polite response to that comment; Mrs. Rouke was right, Layla had died too young.

The older woman's attention swung away from Sam and fixed on Dean. "And how are you feeling, young man?"

His normally charming brother seemed at a loss for words as he stared at Mrs. Rourke. As the silence stretched uncomfortably, Sam jumped in to fill the void. "Dean has his good days and his bad. Thanks for asking."

Mrs. Rourke tucked a graying strand of hair behind her ear as she switched her attention back to Sam. She clutched his hand between her own and squeezed. Hard. "You take care now. You think you have all the time in the world, and then one day you wake up and it's gone."

The woman made a sound that could have been a sob or a cough, or even a laugh, before she bolted down the sidewalk, head down, striding as fast as her legs could carry her in the other direction.

"Poor lady," Sam murmured.

Sam's words galvanized Dean, who had been standing on the sidewalk, staring at Mrs. Rourke's retreating back. "Poor lady?! Did you hear her? She just threatened you and all's you can say is _poor lady_? What the hell is wrong with you?"

Replaying the conversation over in his head, Sam still agreed with his initial call — Mrs. Rourke was grieving for her daughter, not issuing threats. But lately Dean saw everything as a risk, not that Sam could blame him after everything that had happened in the last year, and Sam didn't have the heart to argue.

Lightly grabbing Dean by the elbow, Sam propelled his brother up the sidewalk in the opposite direction from the upset woman who had just left their company. "Come on, Dean. She's gone. Let's get the book, stop at Taco Bell, and get back on the road."

Sam couldn't suppress the shiver that crawled down his spine when he mentioned _Taco Bell_. Of course _Taco Bell _was the phrase Dean glommed onto, crowing with delight. "Yes! Let's get this over with so we can eat. I'm starving. Man, lunch is going to be so good. I can't wait."

He couldn't ignore the look of delight on Dean's face. And the mention of a stop at Taco Bell was all it took to put that 'boy in a candy shop' look on his brother's face. Go figure.

For Dean he could do this. He'd practically ignored his brother on the trip out here. The least he could do is let Dean choose their lunch destination. Maybe he still had some Rolaids soft chews left in the glove-box. Sam could feel his stomach burning and his arteries hardening already.

The brothers paused at the crosswalk while waiting for the light to turn. Suddenly Dean's right fist shot out, thumping a hard blow to Sam's left biceps. "There it is!"

Unprepared for the assault, Sam reeled into the traffic light, catching himself so he wouldn't stumble in front of the oncoming traffic. Something sharp scraped his hands and Sam flinched. "What the hell, Dean? There _what_ is?"

Dean looked crestfallen, reaching out to grab Sam's arms and pull him back on to the sidewalk. "Sorry, I noticed the Taco Bell and realized how hungry I am. But you sure are a light weight. I shouldn't be able to push you around that easily. We're going to have to step up your training."

Scowling at his brother, Sam tried not to make a big deal out of the shove. He could hear Dean's stomach growling and his brother was right — Sam should always be on the defensive. Even when he was with his brother.

God, he hated training.

Reining in a sigh, Sam glanced down at the palms of his hands which were still stinging. Something on the metal pole had scraped a raw strip down the center of both palms. It was a good thing Sam was up to date with his tetanus booster.

Not wanting to be accused of being a drama queen, Sam let his hands drop. He'd wash the abrasions out good when they stopped at Taco Bell. Assuming there was soap in the bathroom.

The walk sign finally flashed and the brothers weaved through the pedestrian traffic. Up ahead Sam could make out a small vertical sign that advertized Esoterica. If he hadn't been looking for it, he surely would have missed it. From the outside the book store looked to be in disrepair with maroon paint peeling off the face of the building and the ill fitting blue door standing ajar. But the inside...it was okay. Better than okay. Sam could lose himself in a bookstore like this for hours.

The bookcases were constructed of a deep cherry wood which matched the ceiling beams and crown moldings. The lighting by the cash register was dim but there was recessed lighting over the bookcases which showcased the old tomes to perfection.

A dark haired, effeminate clerk hustled out of a back room and asked if he could be of help. Sam let Dean talk to the man as he wandered down the nearest aisle. He let his eyes roam high and low, stopping at a leather bound book of spells and enchantments at eye level. He pulled it off the shelf with reverence. Fingering the pages, he noticed the copyright dated back to 1904 and if Sam wasn't mistaken, the author was a popular one, using a different nom de plume. Not many people knew that the renowned author had dabbled in the black arts. Acquiring a book like this would be quite a coup.

"Sammy, I got the book for Bobby. Let's go."

Once again Dean had taken Sam by surprise and he yelped, turning awkwardly. His elbow collided forcibly with the bookshelf and several books tilted to the side before tumbling from their perch. Sam scrambled to catch the books and managed only to drop the one in his hands for his efforts.

'My God, you are a spazz."

Sam had always felt uncoordinated in comparison to his lithe, sure footed brother. His face flamed a bright red as he scrambled to scoop up the books and get them back on the shelf.

Dean captured his right hand after he placed the last book on the shelf. "Dude, you're bleeding."

Reaching into his back pocket, Dean withdrew a blue bandana and wrapped it around Sam's hand, treating him like a helpless kid. "Can't take you anywhere."

The words were said without heat and Sam flashed a quick smile at his brother in thanks. He'd forgotten that he'd scraped his hands on the traffic light. He hoped he hadn't spilled blood on any of the books. That was just gross.

He reached forward to tip a book out and check it but Dean grabbed his right hand again and didn't let go. "No touching, Sammy. Let's get you the hell out of here before you bring a whole bookcase down on our heads."

Rolling his eyes, Sam allowed Dean to tug him to the front of the store. The clerk raised an eyebrow and then winked at Sam as his older brother towed him by. A blush stained Sam's cheeks again and he yanked his hand out of Dean's.

He couldn't wait to get this show back on the road again.

-0-

Dean had been amused as Sam crinkled his nose while surveying his lunch options while they waited their turn in line. He didn't have to think twice about lunch – two Big Bell Box meals ought to do the trick; fajita steak melt, double decker taco, large drink and cinnamon twists. Times two.

After careful contemplation, Sam decided on a Zesty Chicken bowl. How lame. Sometimes he despaired of his brother.

The grimoire was kept on the table, under Dean's elbow, away from his blundering brother. He couldn't get over Sam's bad luck at the bookstore. His usually graceful sibling had just about wiped out a whole bookcase. Maybe the scene with Mrs. Rourke had affected Sam more than he let on. After all, the creepy old broad had sure done a number on Dean.

What were the chances of bumping into Layla's mother out on the street like that? About the same as the guy getting impaled by a metal pole in Providence, in Dean's opinion. Maybe seeing Mrs. Rourke had just been a coincidence. Then again, Dean didn't believe in those.

Pushing aside his worries, Dean consumed his lunch with relish while he waited for Sam to return from the restroom. His brother was probably even now ruthlessly scrubbing his hands. He felt a pang of guilt for pushing Sam into the traffic light; but it had been an accident and his brother didn't appear to be holding it against him.

Dean had already consumed one of his lunch meals when Sam finally returned. Marching on to his next meal, he silently watched as Sam poked and stabbed his salad with little enthusiasm. "You're supposed to eat it, not play with it."

A gleam of amusement brightened Sam's face. "Well you're supposed to chew first, not just swallow."

Touche'. This, right here, was the partner in crime Dean had missed on the journey to Nebraska.

Shoveling the last bite of cinnamon twist into his mouth, Dean dabbed a napkin across his mouth. "Come on, time's a-wasting."

Sam looked relieved to be parting company with his lunch and Dean smirked. For such a big guy, Sam sure could be a girl sometimes.

The brothers made it back to the Impala without incident, stowing the grimoire in the trunk. Dean even paid the parking attendant for their stay at the underground parking structure. When Sam raised an eyebrow at him, Dean protested. "What? I can be a law abiding citizen."

His little brother cocked an eyebrow in question. "Well, okay. Not very often, but it can happen. I wouldn't want to get the reputation of a scofflaw."

His little brother busted out in laughter, his dimples making a rare appearance. They had watched the episode of Seinfeld where Newman is accused of being a scofflaw recently, and it was still fresh in their minds.

The laughter subsided as Sam helped Dean get out of the city and back on to the interstate. A short while later the Impala was wheeling through Iowa.

Sam twisted in his seat, trying to get comfortable. Dean saw him pawing around in the glove-box and his curiosity got the best of him. "Looking for your lipstick?"

His little brother completely ignored him while he dug relentlessly through the contents before him. "It's not here."

Dean wanted to smack the back of Sam's head, see if that jarred a more lucid answer loose, but kept his hands to himself. "You're going to have to be a little more specific."

Rubbing a fist near the top of his rib cage, Sam grimaced. "I thought I had some Rolaids."

Rolaids. That meant only one thing. Heartburn. He stifled the urge to roll his eyes. Sam had the most delicate stomach.

Dean reached into the cassette box and snagged a random tape. Heaven Tonight by Cheap Trick. Up went the volume as Robin Zander began singing "Surrender."

He was able to filter out Sam's squirming for about thirty-five minutes. When the band started "How Are You?" his brother turned an interesting shade of green. Dean lowered the volume and took the first exit he saw.

"What are you doing?"

"We're going to stop and get a room. I can't concentrate on driving when you're wigging out in the passenger seat."

Normally at this point, Sam would whine that he was perfectly fine. It was a testament to how crappy he was feeling when he didn't argue. "Thanks."

And his little brother had that zoned out expression again. The one Dean hated with a passion. This better just be revenge of the border, and not the flu.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** Nope, not ours and we're not making any money from it. The same was true when we wrote the first chapter too; I just forgot to mention it.

**Chapter 2 **

"Hey!" Dean pounded impatiently on the bathroom door. "You ready?"

There was a grumbling and the sound of running water before the lock flicked back with a click and Sam appeared in the doorway, frowning in annoyance. His toothbrush was still clutched in one hand and he was wearing only boxes and the t-shirt he'd been to bed in.

"What?"

"It's been twenty minutes, what the hell have you been doing in there? You know what," Dean held up a hand and rolled his eyes, "I don't wanna know. Just get a move on will ya?"

"It's not been twenty…" Sam grumbled, trailing off when he took in their moderately tidy room and the two bags packed and waiting on the bed. "Huh," he pursed his lips and nodded, looking caught somewhere between bemused and impressed.

"Yeah," Dean prompted when Sam made no attempt to move, "So…"

"Oh," Sam jumped guiltily and disappeared behind the bathroom door again.

Dean turned away and shook his head, trying to hold on to his righteous irritation. Sam's irritable stomach had started to relax once it had escaped the car, so it appeared to be safe to move on again. He'd been hoping for an early start, wanting to get to Bobby and hand over the book in time for lunch. But Sam seemed to have other plans, firstly rising late and then seeming to be operating on a different speed setting to the rest of the world around him.

And then he'd had the nerve to complain that the breakfast Dean had gone out to fetch was cold and congealed and he wasn't eating it. Well it had been fine when Dean had bought it; he just hadn't counted on how long it would take Sam to actually get around to it. And anyway, Dean couldn't see what the problem was; cold or not it had tasted fine to him.

"Sam! Are you quite..?"

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Sam stumbled out of the bathroom, fully dressed this time and having the grace to look sheepish, arms laden with discarded clothes and toiletries for packing.

"Finally. Are you ready now? Lemmie just..." but a jangling of keys indicated that Sam had beaten him too it, and Dean looked up to see Sam flashing the car keys at him with a triumphant grin on his face. Shouldering his bag he pushed past Dean and out of the room.

"You know what," Dean issued to no-one in particular, "If it'll get you moving I'm not even gonna argue. Bring the car around, I'm gonna check out. If they're still even open."

Sam just pulled a snitty face and snatched Dean's bag up to load the car.

When Dean made it out of the office the Impala was still parked on the other side of the lot and he huffed impatiently making his way over to it, planning just what he was going to say if Sam had spent the entire time while Dean had been inside re-arranging the seat.

Sam was sat with his hands on the wheel staring straight ahead and when Dean slid in beside him, he didn't turn to acknowledge his presence. Or move. He just frowned thoughtfully.

"Helps if you turn her on," Dean prompted, shaking his head with a smile.

"Yeah," Sam mused absently, lifting one hand from the wheel and raising it in front of him, inspecting the key still clutched in his grasp as though seeing it for the first time.

"I know you bitch that I never let you drive but I gotta say, you're not exactly inspiring confidence here."

"I know… I just," Sam turned two wide eyes in his direction. "Dean?"

"Ignition Sammy," Dean attempted, "What the hell is with you this morning?"

"Right, ignition, yeah," Sam babbled, fiddling with the key and trying to get it slotted in the right spot. "Just gimmie a…" Sam flashed an apologetically confused smile in his direction, then ducked his head under the steering wheel as though exploring for where the key should go. It seemed to take an inordinately long time before he figured it out too.

"Ok… You're kidding with this right?" But something about the way Sam was chewing his bottom lip as the engine ticked over made Dean's stomach clench. "All right get out, I'm driving."

"No, hang on. It'll come back to me."

"Come back..! Nuh huh, out."

"Dean?" Sam's voice wobbled and Dean forgot about the potential damage to the car and really took his brother in for the first time. Sam's hands were clenched so tight around the wheel that his arms were corded, and the eyes that were flicking madly over the dash where tinged with panic. Sam took a deep, steadying breath. "I can't…" his body radiated tension, and while Dean was going out of his way to look at Sam he could tell that his little brother was deliberately not turning his eyes in Dean's direction.

And all the annoyance and irritation he'd been feeling drained out of him at the sight of Sam's distress.

"What's going on?" he tried, "Talk to me."

It looked as though Sam had forgotten how to drive, but that was ridiculous. Sam couldn't have forgotten how to drive. He might not be as keen on cars as Dean was, but Sam had been driving for years; it was a skill that has been high up on the Winchester priorities list. Sam could drive, perform evasive manoeuvres, break into and hotwire a car, all of which he had proven in spades over the last couple of months, so all joking aside there was absolutely no reason for Sam to look so out of place behind the wheel.

"Sam?" he tried again, "Why don't you..?"

"Dean, just… _don't_, all right."

Sam finally let go of the wheel to run shaking hands through his hair, and this was officially no-longer funny. It was so freaking far from funny. Sam had been fine before he'd got in the car. A little slow, but he'd made it clear he was just disgruntled at Dean cutting into his entitled no-hunt naptime. Dean had no idea what this was, but if Sam's blank uncomprehending stare was anything to go by, Dean freaking out about it too was not going to achieve anything.

And wasn't going to get them moving.

He could talk Sam through it, hope he'd remember as he went and wouldn't kill them both, but somehow Dean doubted it would help. Sam didn't exactly look like he'd be able to decipher the words right now.

As though coming to a decision Sam straightened his shoulders and breathed in deep, put his hands on the wheel, checked over his shoulder to see if the way behind them was clear, and promptly stalled with such a juddering jolt of gears that Dean had sympathy pains on top of whiplash.

"Get out the car." He ordered quietly.

"Yeah," Sam fervently agreed, unclenching his hands from the wheel and groping for the door handle as though in a daze.

Dean pulled himself out of his seat with his heart racing. Sam didn't look at him as they passed to swap seats. Dean knew the stiff posture, lock jawed expression and hand wringing well enough to know that they weren't going to be talking about what had just happened any time soon. At least not until Sam was ready. And he wasn't sure if he wanted to. That was firmly once of those instances he wanted to pretend had never happened and move on from, but he had a feeling they wouldn't be able to.

The unease kept building as they headed out of town. He threw Sam the occasional glance, but he was still huddled in the passenger seat, so tense it must have been painful.

The silence was making his insides churn.

"Stop staring at me," Sam finally broke it in a small voice.

Dean just stared at him all the more as a way of pointing out the absurdity of that request after what he had just witnessed.

"I'm okay," Sam assured, "why are you being such a … my stomach's fine, I'm sorry we had to stop, and I'm sorry I didn't think the prospect of Bobby's cooler warranted a 6am wake up call, but I'm up now and we're going, so cut it out" Sam finished over Dean's incredulous snort.

"You're okay. So you remember how to drive now?"

"Yes I remember how to drive," Sam said, with the right degree of scathing that that sentence would normally have deserved.

"Yeah, well forgive me if I don't feel up to testing you on that any time soon, alright?"

"Dean," Sam whined his name, sounding stuck somewhere between indignant adult and little kid in need of approval.

"Yeah, you're okay." Dean relented, breathing a sigh of relief when Sam lent over and flicked on the radio.

They drove for a few minutes, both pretending Sam was ignoring him out of annoyance and not something more, and Dean pretending the music drowned out the sound of Sam's deliberately even breathing. But even Dean and all his powers of denial couldn't ignore the sound of Sam's stomach growling over the base.

He sighed extravagantly, pulling off a side road and heading back into town. At this rate they were never going to get to Bobby's. He hoped there wasn't anything too urgently needed from that book.

"Where are you..?" Sam trailed off as Dean pulled into a roadside café and gave him a glare. "Oh come on," He huffed, "I can last…"

"Yeah well I can't. You're not exactly tuneful. And you say it's _my_ stomach that dictates our schedule." But he wasn't just stopping for Sam. His nerves were in serious need of some soothing, and if they didn't get caffeine soon he might not be held accountable for his actions.

There was a discarded newspaper on the table of the booth Dean led them to but again Sam beat him to it, giving him pause to wonder just how slow his own reflexes must be going this morning if Sam managed to keep out manoeuvring them. But Sam flicking through the pages was just as good an excuse not to talk, and Dean snatched a menu out of the stand to stare at instead, suddenly needing something to keep his hands occupied, flapping it against the edge of the table, one leg keeping rhythm in a way that had Sam glancing up at him over the classifieds, but not breaking the silence.

Sam ordered pancakes with a smile, but Dean's two breakfasts were starting to sit a little heavily so he shoved the menu back in the slot sheepishly and just ordered a coffee – large, black –and watched the waitress go.

"You're a little jittery man," Sam closed the paper and turned to give his brother his full concerned attention. "You really think more coffee is a good idea?"

Dean calmly brought his jiggling leg and tapping fingers to a standstill. "It's fine."

"Yeah well, just don't twitch us off the road or something."

"Oh, so _you're_ questioning _my_ driving," Dean ground out in his best 'don't go there' voice.

Sam just shrugged and set the paper aside.

"Nothing good?" Sam could have drawn out reading that baby for their entire stay if he'd wanted to, and for some reason the fact he'd chosen not to meant Dean would feel like an ass if he gave in to the instinct to snaffle it and hide behind it himself.

"Nah. Your impaled motorist made page 12. It talks about probability and trajectory – there's even a diagram – but there's no mention of 'God's will'."

"Yeah well, I know what I saw." Or rather he didn't actually, and that was the part that was bothering him.

"Yeah," Sam agreed in a tone that let Dean know he'd sensed the lie, but had decided not to call him on it.

"So I figured after Bobby's we'd head south," Dean took up, "Maybe swing by and check out that…" he paused while the waitress returned with their order, "That possible Brownie sighting we read about on the way here."

"You know that was probably a hoax right."

"There's still that woman west of Michigan who claims to be pregnant with a demon baby." Dean offered.

"Brownies it is then." Sam rolled his eyes.

"Yeah… we still got another four months before we really need to start worrying about that one."

Sam shook his head but otherwise just ignored him and carried on shoveling his food.

"I wonder why she thinks it's a _demon_ baby?" Dean mused.

"Because she's crazy?" Sam suggested with a mouth full of pancake.

"Well there's that," Dean relented, "But her description of the father and their 'encounter'…"

"Oh god. You been branching out in your usual late night literature?" Sam groaned, "I don't wanna know about their…."

"It was a fairly accurate description of an incubus" Dean cut in.

"Oh come on!" Sam huffed in amusement. "You're not honestly gonna take this thing seriously. This coming from the woman who insulated her home with tin foil to stop the aliens from being able to track her."

"Hah. So you read that article too."

Sam coloured slightly, which just made Dean grin wider.

"I read the part where she spent most of the 90s in and out of medical facilities trying to keep her schizophrenia and delusions in check."

"Oh. You saw that bit, huh," Dean sulked.

"Yeah. And another thing… Why is it that..?"

Sam trailed off, fork pointing in Dean's direction, eyes fixed on the plate in front of him.

"Why is it what?" Dean prompted, not really wanting the lecture he could sense coming about the type of thing Dean selected to believe or not believe, but liking Sam's loss of momentum even less.

But Sam remained silent, just frowned slightly.

"Sam… what?" Dean followed Sam's eyes to his plate of mostly eaten pancakes, leaning over the booth to get a better look. "You find a bug in there or something? Little rodent bones?" he suggested, remembering with a shudder one of the less agreeable roadside vendors in Mississippi they'd visited. "What?"

But his question garnered absolutely no response. Not even a twitch. Nor did snapping his fingers in front of Sam's face or flicking him between the eyes.

"Sammy, jokes over, you're freaking me out a little here," Dean tried to keep his voice low and even, grateful that the diner was almost deserted during the lull between the breakfast and lunch rushes.

Taking a breath Dean lent back in his seat to take Sam in. He was completely still, not even the hand extending the fork twitched, and his staring eyes had a slightly unfocused gleam about them.

"What the hell's going on with you?" he murmured, grateful he hadn't been eating because the cold clenching in his gut had returned with a vengeance.

Dean wrenched the implement out of Sam's hand, sighing as it came free easily, not liking the way this spooky statue of Sam was brandishing cutlery in his direction. Keeping Sam's cold hand enclosed in his own Dean lowered it to the table.

With his other hand he reached over and tilted Sam's face upwards taking in his vacant expression, palming his brow, cupping an un-fevered cheek, and trying to push down the wave of panic as Sam remained completely unresponsive through it all.

Sam'd been behaving kind of weird lately, and Father Gregory's spirit had gotten in his head and had a look around. Had he done some kind of damage? Was there some kind of trauma going on behind that calm blank stare that Dean wasn't equipped to handle?

Moving his hand slightly he thumbed open one of Sam's eyes wider, not really sure what he was looking for.

"Come on Sam. Snap out of this right now or we're going to the nearest ER." Hell, they were probably going to one anyway, but to admit that didn't seem much of an incentive to bring the kid back.

When he released him Sam's head stayed where Dean had angled it, as though Sam were some giant pose-able doll.

He moved Sam's plate across the table towards him, aware that if Sam's posture were to give way he'd end up with a face full of maple syrup. And something about the sound of crockery scraping over Formica seemed to break the spell.

"Hey!" Sam issued so suddenly that Dean jumped, almost tipping the remains of Sam's breakfast over the edge of the table onto the floor. "I was eating that." Sam indignantly made to snatch the plate back but Dean's fingers had clenched and were holding it towards him in a vice like grip. "If you wanted some you should have ordered your own… Dean?" he questioned, seeming to work out that Dean was still holding Sam's other hand in his own, pressed against the table. "What the hell are you doing?"

Dean opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, so shocked at having Sam back with him again that he couldn't quite work out what to say.

"You feeling okay?" Sam lent towards him in concern. "You've been acting a little weird today."

"_I've_ been acting weird!" Dean let out incredulously. "You're the weird one around here."

"I'm not the one manhandling my brother's breakfast." Sam indicated to the plate Dean had pulled protectively towards him away from Sam's reach.

Dean sighed and slid it over in irritation, still not relinquishing the prize in his other hand.

"I'm not kidding Sam," Dean ground out, not sure whether to express just how worried he had been. "You just completely checked out on me there."

"Were you talking about something stupid?"

"I… what?"

"It's kind of a defence mechanism; to avoid some of your more bizarre trains of thought."

"I'm being serious here. Wait... you don't remember what we were talking about?"

"I…"

"What's the last thing you do remember?"

"Dean…"

"Look, I'm not trying to be funny Sam, you just zoned out for a good couple of minutes. There was no-one home. You have a headache? You feel faint?"

"I don't know what to say Dean, I feel fine. _Really_." He stressed sincerely, gently extracting his hand from under Dean's and turning his attention back to his breakfast, one eye still trained on his brother as though he didn't trust him not to steal it again.

Dean just lent back in his seat and sighed.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **See previous chapter

**Ch****apter 3**

Dean was at a loss. Either he was losing his marbles or Sam had lost his. But his little brother was the most well adjusted, scarily-smart man Dean knew. Although the majority of people Dean came in contact with were hunters and as a whole, hunters were pretty out there. It wouldn't take much to seem normal in comparison to that bunch.

But Dean knew Sam. His moods and his habits. Although zoning out in the middle of eating, or a conversation, or even driving cross country wasn't unheard of, it was the fact that Sam didn't remember doing it that had Dean's full attention. Sam had even tried to turn the tables on Dean, make it seem as though Dean was the one spacing out. _I'm not the one manhandling my brother's breakfast_, indeed.

Add to that the little scene in the Impala when his brother couldn't remember how to drive and Dean was forced to conclude something wasn't right. Unfortunately, Dean didn't have a clue what the problem was so for now he'd be relegated to wait-and-see mode. He hated that with a passion. Dean was a man of action and didn't take kindly to being patient. That was more Sam's gig.

Sam was sitting in the passenger seat, staring unblinkingly out the front windshield. It was starting to wear on Dean's nerves.

"The lights are on but nobody's home."

His brother frowned but didn't say anything. This was getting old really fast.

Right after Dean paid for breakfast he had bundled his little brother through the light, steady rain and into the Impala so they could make tracks for Singer Salvage Yard. Dean would feel better once they made Bobby's. Maybe their friend would have some ideas about Sammy's strange behavior.

Once they'd gotten out on the highway, Sam had made small talk and Dean had begun to feel confident that his brother had zoned out during breakfast because he was tired or something. But soon the talk tailed off and Sam's answers turned increasingly monosyllabic.

Dean needed to engage his brother in conversation, keep him grounded, do something, anything. He'd just have to keep trying. He surreptitiously shot a glimpse Sam's way and noticed the frown had lifted from his brother's face. But there was no spark to his brother's usually animated features. "Hey, Sammy. Why don't you pick out a tape? I'm suspending the 'driver picks the music, passenger shuts his cakehole' rule of thumb until we get to Bobby's. You'd better take advantage of it."

Sam's hands, which had been resting loosely in his lap, twitched and then stilled. His lips parted but no sound emerged.

Dean was officially freaked. "Sammy?"

He thought about pulling over and shaking his sibling but at the moment, Bobby's house represented refuge. They just had to hang in there four or so more hours.

A heavy sigh emerged from Sam's lips and then his head tilted back until it leaned against the headrest. His eyes, now glassy, were still fixed in the distance.

"Sam, knock it off. You're officially scaring me here, dude."

Dean made sure Sam was belted in tightly before returning his attention back to the road. His foot pushed harder on the gas pedal. They couldn't get to Bobby's soon enough as far as he was concerned. Something was seriously wrong with his little brother. Sam needed help.

With the music off and Sam pretty much unresponsive, Dean had time to think. And he didn't like where his thoughts were taking him.

Sam had been fine, well as fine as usual, when they hit Providence. Then out of the blue his little brother had passed out at the church and when he'd come to, he'd been spouting something about seeing an angel. That had given him pause but Dean trusted Sam — something other-worldly had happened. Of course Dean never believed it was an angel. But something supernatural had been at work. Sure enough, Father Gregory's spirit had been the cause of those poor souls in need of redemption killing those sinners at the dead priest's behest.

And Sam had been one of the chosen. Maybe Father Gregory had damaged his brother's mind. Or maybe Sam had hit his head when he passed out.

Or maybe Layla's mom had put some sort of a voodoo hex on his brother. Mrs. Rourke had that unhinged look about her and she'd been pretty out of it. Except the part where she threatened Sam.

Dean's attention was ripped back to Sam as his brother jerked at his seatbelt, flailing in an effort to unlatch it. "Sammy, please, just relax."

Sam continued to struggle, pawing ineffectually at the restraint, as if Dean hadn't even spoken.

Dean cajoled and pleaded and begged but Sam fought to get loose from the seatbelt with more and more fervor.

"Sam, settle down. Sam!"

He tried to imitate his dad's Marine authoritative growl but his tone seemed only to fuel Sam's efforts as he yanked and pulled harder at the belt.

Dean threw his right hand out and laid it over the belt clasp while keeping his eyes open for an exit. He didn't want to stop but they couldn't carry on with Sam's current agitated state.

A sign announcing an exit in 2 miles appeared and relief coursed through Dean. His hands were shaking and his heart was thumping in reaction to Sam's antics.

His relief was premature as Sam ripped his hand away and succeeded in undoing the seatbelt. Before Dean could catch his breath and regroup, Sam had opened the heavy passenger door and pushed it open, nearly tumbling out.

Dean snatched wildly at Sam's back and his fingers latched with desperation onto the collar of Sam's tan lightweight jacket. His brother heaved and jerked at the restriction, hell-bent on leaping from the car.

The moving car.

Easing his foot off the accelerator, Dean steered the Impala on to the shoulder of the highway, fish-tailing on the slick black top. They jerked to a complete halt just shy of the exit he'd been aiming for.

As Dean released his death-grip on Sam's jacket so he could put the car in park, his brother took advantage of his freedom. Sam darted out of the passenger seat, into the cool fall rain. He could hear Sam panting as his brother scrambled down the small incline even as Dean was sliding across the bench seat and lunging after his runaway brother.

"Sammy, get back here!"

Dean didn't know why he bothered to shout. Sam wasn't listening to him. He wasn't sure Sam was even on the same plane as him at the moment.

As he scrambled after his brother, Sam stumbled and fell to a knee. Dean launched himself at his brother, tackling him around the waist, sending them both crashing to the heavy underbrush.

When his brother continued to struggle, Dean manhandled him until he was on his back, eyes staring ahead but seeing nothing, furiously panting for oxygen. He secured Sam by sitting on his stomach and pressing his right forearm against Sam's windpipe.

When Sam continued to thrash, Dean increased the pressure on Sam's throat. The gleam of nothingness in Sam's eyes dimmed as his eyelids fluttered closed.

Dean removed his forearm from Sam's windpipe. "Come on, Sammy. Don't do this."

Without Dean's touch holding him in place, Sam's head lolled to the side, skin pale save for the red mark across his throat. The red mark Dean had put there.

The cool rain turned hard and steady; tugging the collar of his leather jacket up, Dean knew he needed to get Sam out of the elements. The last thing his brother needed was a cold or pneumonia on top of whatever freaky thing was already going on.

Dean resigned himself to carrying his unconscious brother to the car. His back would protest but he didn't see another way. Gripping limp, cold hands in his warm ones, he tugged until Sam was sitting up.

That was as far as they got as Sam's hazel eyes blinked open. Sam blinked dazedly, focusing seeming to be a problem but his brother finally regained control of his vision. "Dean?"

His brother's voice was soft and confused as he grappled with why he was outside, sitting on the ground in the rain.

Dean wished he had an explanation but he was just as confused as Sam. When a shiver rippled through Sam's frame, Dean decided any explanations would have to wait until he found them a place to stay and got Sam dried out. Moving behind Sam, he leaned over and slid his arms under Sam's armpits. "On the count of three, one, two, three."

His brother didn't fight him but he also didn't help much. Sam was much too passive.

He threw one of Sam's arms over his shoulders while sliding his own arm around his brother's waist. Anchoring Sam tightly to him, they began the long, staggering trip back to the car.

-0-

If Sam had thought Dean had been looking at him funny after the incident in the diner, he was unprepared for the level of observation he was subjected to on the journey back to the car. But this time he couldn't say he blamed him. The last thing he remembered was being in the car just leaving town. Opening his eyes in the dirt two hours later was a little disconcerting. Not to mention the amount of effort it seemed to be taking just to keep himself on his feet.

He let Dean lead him slowly back to the car without question. It wasn't that he didn't have plenty, but he also had a deep sense of foreboding that made him reluctant to ask any, and he trusted that Dean would explain everything in good time.

Instead if climbing back in to the car Sam drew away from Dean to lean against its side. He couldn't explain it but the inside of the car seemed suddenly claustrophobic and he felt he needed the air.

But Dean seemed to have other ideas. "Come on," he murmured, taking Sam by the arm and trying to steer him towards the door, obviously misinterpreting the reason why Sam's momentum had stalled.

"I'm okay, just gimme a minute," Sam asked him hoarsely, pulling away. Dean stopped pushing but didn't relinquish his hold on Sam's sleeve.

"I'm not going to bolt," Sam told him with a smile, only needing to see the hard lines around Dean's mouth to tell him he'd said the wrong thing. He sighed and ran a hand through his dampening hair, tilting his face into the breeze. His head felt stuffy and hopefully it would blow away a few cobwebs, the crisp scent of the rain seeming to ground him, waking him up more fully to his surroundings.

But Dean was still watching him warily in a way that set him on edge and Sam knew he would not be finding any peace, so they might as well be on the road. Give Dean the distraction of driving.

"Come on, let's get to Bobby's. We can't be more than a couple of hours out, right?"

If anything Dean's expression became even more incredulous.

"I'm okay now…" he attempted, but Dean's jaw just hardened and he stalked away from Sam back round to the driver's side with a terse "Get in."

"Why, how far away are we?" Sam was unsure which part of what he'd said had been wrong.

"It doesn't matter. We're not going there now. There should be somewhere in the next town we can stay for a while. We're not going any further until we've figured this out."

"But we're almost there now Dean, why..?"

"You tried to claw your way out of a moving car Sam." Dean's voice was echoingly loud in the confined space.

"What?" Sam whispered, feeling as though his stomach had just dropped through the floor.

"Yeah," Dean's chuckle was anything but humorous, no doubt taking in the look of horror on Sam's face. "I wasn't exactly looking for a repeat performance myself."

"I feel fine," Sam attempted, but Dean shook his head, not allowing Sam to continue.

"I've heard that one before," he said dully, "That was how you convinced me to get back on the road in the first place instead of hauling your ass to the nearest ER."

"ER? Dean…" Sam spluttered, but Dean wasn't finished.

"Once bitten twice shy Sam. We're figuring this out now before it goes any further."

"You're taking me to the ER?" It was Sam's turn to be incredulous. "What the Hell are you gonna tell them?"

"Um, the truth." Dean bit out. "That you're distracted, forgetful, keep zoning out on me, then went completely crazy in the car and decided to go for a run without waiting for me to stop the vehicle first. And you have no memory of doing any of these things. Does that about cover it?"

Sam knew there was no variation of 'I feel normal right now' that he could possibly use to change Dean's mind, and in truth, he didn't know what to say. Dean had been acting off around him all morning, damn near erratic, and if it wasn't for the fact he had no idea how he'd gotten out of the car he'd almost believe Dean was the one with the problem. But that didn't alter the facts.

"We can't go to the ER Dean," he said carefully, raising his voice and his eyebrows to override Dean's explosion to the contrary, "They have records, security guards and cameras, and are normally swarming with cops. In case it's slipped your mind, you were on the national news accused of bank robbery and hostage taking less than a month ago. We can't just…" Sam sighed, knowing if Dean at his most protective had truly made his mind up, there was little Sam could do to change it.

"Then what do you want me to do Sam?" Dean sounded defeated, like just being around Sam was wearing him down. Sam still didn't want to stop, but knew they both had to make concessions or they wouldn't get anywhere.

"We'll go to a motel. Play it by ear. I'll try and stay awake, I won't let myself zone out anymore, and you can look up any symptoms if that makes you feel better. If anything happens you have my permission to seek whatever answers you need, but we have to be careful about it."

"You don't believe me do you." It wasn't a question. It lacked any type of intonation to be such.

Sam knew he paused slightly too long, giving Dean the answer he needed. But he still followed it up with "All I know is I feel fine Dean. I don't feel any different to when I woke up this morning, or to yesterday, or the day before. And if you're going to ask me to risk your freedom I need a little more to go on." Dean was just staring at him glumly, and Sam could see he was close to giving in. "Worry goes both ways Dean," he finished quietly, twisting the knife.

"Okay," Dean relented, throwing his arms up in a submissive gesture before turning on the engine. "Okay. But if your brain starts leaking outta your ears be prepared for a whopping 'I told you so'."

"Deal." Sam smiled, trying to take Dean's words as an attempt at humour without being fully convinced they'd been intended that way.

True to his word Sam allowed himself to be engaged in conversation the whole way to the nearest motel, checked them in himself under Dean's intense scrutiny, then helped unload the car.

And then they sat.

With no hunt to work on, no journal entry to update and no plans for researching another gig – and Dean's unspoken refusal to let them leave the room – Sam wasn't exactly sure how they were going to fill all the time until morning. Dean had said something about figuring out what was going on with Sam's weird symptoms, but after a cursory exam that ruled out fever, concussion or any obvious causes he'd stalled. It seemed that Dean refused to take his eyes off Sam long enough to research further himself, but also refused to let Sam lose himself in the work in case he never came back.

After the last couple of months - their Dad's secret, Sam's drunken plea that Dean execute him if necessary, their high profile balls up with the skin walker and Sam's recent conviction he'd been touched by an angel – Dean had been fairly reluctant to engage in any serious conversation for a while now in case it strayed down a path he'd rather not tread.

Two minutes of Sam staring at him with a 'what now' expression and Dean finally snapped, storming out of the room with a sigh only to return a minute later slamming a soda and a pack of cards on the table in front of Sam's face.

"Deal." Was his only instruction.

They hadn't just hung out and relaxed together for weeks. This didn't have to be a complete waste of a stop.

Smiling slightly Sam picked up the deck.

-0-

They'd been holed up in the motel room for close to five hours and Dean was starting to go stir crazy waiting for Sam to do something odd, when Sam seemed determined to make a liar out of him and act perfectly rational just to spite him.

They were used to spending all day cooped up in a car together but music did a lot to detract from the close quarters, and there was some unspoken rule that said when they stopped for the day they were entitled to do their own thing – step out for air, hit a bar or an arcade or take in the sights. They very rarely spent all day indoors together for the hell of it with no research and neither of them injured. It was hard to monitor Sam's level of coherence vegged out in front of the TV, but Dean had finally felt the need to switch it on just for background noise.

They never usually had so much trouble filling their time, but it was hard to relax when they were both so tense.

"Will you sit down already!" Dean bitched, reaching for another slice of pizza. The argument over the topping had been the most exciting thing that had happened in the past hour and a half. He wasn't quite sure when Sam had first felt the need to take up pacing around their room, but Dean wished he'd cut it out already.

Sam briefly flicked his eyes in Dean's direction but otherwise ignored him, continuing to pace with an increasing level of agitation. The smooth flow to his gait that had been present when he had started was long gone, and his movements seemed jerky and erratic, his path less clear cut. This had become more than just claustrophobia. Sam was wringing his hands in a way that screamed a deep-seated unease rather than just boredom, and now Dean was again looking closely he could see that Sam's lips were moving.

Discarding his half-eaten pizza slice Dean sat up to attention, leaning in closer to hear those whispered words. He couldn't pick out anything specific, but the cadence and fear behind them were enough to get Dean to his feet even as his blood ran cold.

_Was Sam chanting in Latin?_

"Sam?" He moved to block his brother's path but Sam made no acknowledgement of his presence, just sidestepped around him to continue wearing a path in the carpet. "Sam, stop." He still couldn't work out what Sam was actually saying but the feverish manner in which he was getting the words out made him almost not want to know. "Sam, come on."

Determined to make Sam notice him Dean stepped directly in front of his brother's path, bracing a hand on each of Sam's shoulders, trying to get a glimpse of his face. There was nothing mechanical about Sam's pacing, his steps had been confused and erratic, but even so, Dean was not prepared for the reaction trying to halt Sam's movements caused.

Sam twisted himself free of Dean's hold with an agility usually reserved for sparring and hunts, and his quiet monologing suddenly got a whole lot more vocal.

"No," he cried, backing into a corner away from Dean's grasp, eyes and posture twitching fearfully. "No, no, no, no... You can't. I won't go with you."

"Sam?" he called gently, approaching the skittish man slowly, heart aching to see his obvious fear. "Sam, it's okay," arms extended in a pacifying gesture.

"No… I… DEAN!" Dean flinched at the primal way Sam screamed his name, backing away slightly to avoid the volume of the second shout that tore its way out of Sam's already abused throat. "_Dean. _I need…" Sam's eyes were darting and as Dean stepped forward again he figured out what Sam was going to do a second too late to stop it. Sam feinted, and even as Dean reached in to close the distance his brother darted in the other direction, escaping Dean's grasp. Whatever was going on in Sam's head he was beyond terrified, and Dean wasn't too far behind him in that.

But in trying to restrain him Dean seemed to have tipped his brother over from fearful, to raging. In a heartbeat Sam went from cowering in a corner, to systematically and indiscriminately destructive.

Their belongings were swept off the table with a roar of pure fury, a chair kicked into the far wall. They didn't have many belongings and the lack of anything obvious that he could smash seemed to be only making Sam madder.

He was going to hurt himself if Dean didn't restrain him, but he was unsure just how to go about doing that given the violence and speed of Sam's movements. His calm, collected brother was suddenly a whirlwind of destruction and for a moment there was nothing Dean could do but stare shocked in his wake.

It was the breaking glass of the mirror that prompted Dean to step in at last, to try and subdue Sam before he could do any more damage, but once again any kind of forceful contact sent Sam off onto an even more frenzied assault.

There was nothing Dean could say that Sam would listen to, if he could even hear anything over the sound of his own screams and heavy breathing. Dean begged him to calm down but instead Sam merely scrambled across the bed blocking his path and bolted for the door.

Dean went crashing in pursuit in an instant, bouncing on both beds and colliding with Sam before his shaking hands could fumble with the door lock. He didn't even try to halt his momentum, his panic was too strong. His whole weight slammed Sam into the door with enough force that it had to daze him, and sent them both tumbling to the floor.

If Sam was stunned he didn't show it. He still exhibited an extraordinary amount of strength and co-ordination in his attempt to squirm out of Dean's grasp, but Dean was ready for him this time.

"Oh no you don't," he muttered, shifting himself into a more comfortable position on the floor, arms tightening around his straining brother's waist. "Calm down Sam. It's _me_. Calm down."

But Sam was having none of it. He continued to thrash and scream, trying to buck himself out of Dean's hold with a desperation that scared him, but Dean held on tight, more terrified of what would happen if he let go.

He shifted his legs until they were wrapped around Sam's knees, pinning him in place and stopping him from kicking loose, trapping his arms between their bodies so he couldn't break free. Sam continued to try and push and twist his way free but his arms and body lacked any leverage locked tight in Dean's embrace.

He did his best to ignore Sam's curses and his screams, to not feel the pain of his ineffectual blows, but there was nothing Sam could do, no physical blow he could inflict, that could hurt Dean more than his tearful pleas for release. His screams for a brother he didn't seem to realise was right there, rocking him gently and whispering into his hair. Nothing could hurt more than the mistrust and complete lack of recognition in his brother's eyes.

"It's going to be okay" he crooned, "It's okay," knowing nothing had ever been less okay in his life. It was rare that he ever had Sam this close to him, but he had never felt so distant.

Sam had been out of it before, but he'd always snapped back after a couple of minutes, a couple of heart stopping, agonising minutes. But this time, as Dean kept one eye on the clock and another on his brother – still feebly twitching and struggling on occasion as though waiting until he though Dean might have been fooled to relax – Dean's lower body had gone numb and the clock past the 30 minute mark and Sam made no sign that he was even contemplating snapping back to awareness.

"You're okay," Dean lied over and over until he was hoarse, but when Sam finally stilled it was resignation rather than awareness that stared back at him. Sam had struggled until he could physically struggle no more, but he still hadn't made the journey back to him.

-0-

There was a pressure in his ears like he was underwater, a distant muted hum. Breathing hurt, a long drawn out process that made his nose and throat burn, but he wasn't coughing or choking so he seemed to be taking in air and not water.

His head felt full, pounding in time to his pulse so loud that he couldn't think. He wanted to curl into a ball to avoid it but his limbs were dead weights dragging him downwards and he tried to let them pull him back into the waiting darkness, anything to escape, but he was the wrong side of conscious to achieve it.

Awareness was slowly creeping over him; the soft mattress beneath him, face squashed into its depth, the weight of blankets above him just adding to the pressure bearing down. The pain deep in every muscle as though his whole body had cramped and was striving now for release.

He groaned, shifting slightly in discomfort and felt the world keep on shifting around him, stomach lurching with dizziness and nausea even though, as far as he could tell, he appeared to be lying down and barely moving. He crunched his eyes closed even tighter, breathing deep and even despite the pain, and tried to will it away.

Gradually it subsided to more manageable levels and Sam found himself able to force his tired brain to think. He seemed to be incredibly hung-over, aching, and in bed. And alone.

"D'n?" he tried to force his brother's name out but his throat felt cracked and sore, too dry to form words. He tried to swallow to sooth it but that just brought the pain and nausea back in force, so he had to rethink his strategy.

It took several attempts and a little more groaning before he managed to open his eyes.

The lighting was dim and the air stuffy, everything seeming to support the 'somehow underwater' theory. It took time for his eyes to focus enough to show him anything, and even longer to make sense of what he was seeing.

Dean was hunched over in a chair pulled up alongside the bed staring fixedly in Sam's direction but not seeming to see him, looking haunted in the dim light. His face was pale and his eyes were red and bloodshot, his expression so blank it was chilling.

"D'n?" he tried again, not able to understand the knot of fear curling in his stomach when Dean made no reaction to his attempt, didn't even blink, just continued to stare through him as though he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

With extraordinary effort he tried to raise himself on his elbows, lift his head off the mattress, reach out to his brother, but he barely made it an inch before he was crying out and curling back into himself to escape the pain, burying his face in the pillow beneath him to shut out the light and stop the violent spinning in his head. Eyes clenched shut he tried to quell the panic, to stop himself from throwing up, acutely aware of the absence of Dean's soothing voice and touch, the comforting presence that Sam had taken for granted his whole life.

When he finally opened his eyes again Dean had not moved, but his face looked a little tighter. More resigned. He couldn't reach out to Dean physically – he was so exhausted he could barely _feel_ his limbs let alone attempt to move them again. He just continued to watch, to attempt to puzzle it out.

When he finally made eye contact and held it, Dean's whole posture shifted. He lent forward slightly, eyes still fixed on Sam's, frowning slightly.

"Dean?" He decided the situation merited the risk of trying again. "What...?"

"Sammy?" The change was instantaneous and a little alarming; hope, doubt, sorrow, anger all warring across his features, and the intensity of it made Sam recoil slightly. "You in there?"

He swallowed, still struggling to find the moisture to speak, not really understanding Dean's words. "In where?"

He blinked and Dean was kneeling in front of him now with a bottle of water in hand, sporting that Winchester expression that managed to be somewhere between ecstatic and grim.

"Here… easy, small sips… Yeah I know, your throats gotta be a little sore."

"Why..?" He couldn't find the energy to finish the question. Dean was supporting his entire weight, raising his head slightly off the mattress so he could drink. He couldn't seem to find the strength to help. When he was lowered again he sank bonelessly into the soft warmth, and he couldn't be bothered to move from where he was put, closing his eyes against the fatigue and the vertigo that threatened to rob him of the little water he'd drunk.

"Hey," Dean's fingers were a light pressure on his cheek, encouraging him to wrench open his eyes once more. "You really back with me?" Dean asked tentatively.

"Where did I go?" he mumbled in confusion, not really caring about the answer but knowing by the way Dean's hand clenched on his shoulder that he's asked the right question.

"Oh God…" Dean breathed with a hitch that almost had Sam opening his eyes. "We're gonna figure this out, I promise." Warm gentle hands were rubbing his arm and running through his hair, and Sam melted into their touch.

"Gooood," he drawled out sleepily, secure in the knowledge that whatever the problem might be, Dean was on the case. He sighed and seemed to sink deeper into the mattress.

"No, hey, come on," Dean's voice was slightly panicked and Sam's shoulder was given a gentle yet insistent shake.

"Wha..?"

"Open your eyes… that's it. I just… stay awake." That last bit was part order, part plea.

"'m so tired," he tried to explain. It wasn't that he didn't want to do what Dean was asking, it was just…

"I know," Dean soothed, and there was a hand stroking down his arm again, "I know. I just think it would be better… just in case, if you…" Dean swallowed, and just when Sam thought he'd given up, "Please stay with me…" Dean breathed, "I don't think I can do this on my own."

"You're not..?" Sam tried to reassure him, shifting slightly beneath Dean's touch in an effort to rouse himself. If there was anything that was going to get him opening his eyes it was listening to Dean beg. Because Dean didn't beg. What on earth had happened here?

"Dean?"

"Hey, stay calm," Dean shot urgently in a tone that made Sam want to do anything but, "Just… you think you can sit up?"

"No," Sam huffed at the absurdity of the question.

"It's okay, I got it, just… keep breathing."

Sam groaned as Dean rolled him and hauled him up into a sitting position, leaning him heavily against the hard wooden headboard as though determined to make him too uncomfortable to fall back to sleep. Dean was prattling the whole time, tone and hands soothing, yet the haunted look had not left his eyes.

Sam had no idea what was going on and he was starting to become fearful. Dean's reactions were not normal. He'd been wanting comfort, but Dean's brand of comfort usually came with a sharp word and a cocky grin, a joke to cover the fact he was worried. This was overkill, and Sam marveled for a moment that Dean being gentle could scare him in a way raging and screaming never did.

Dean left his side and he could hear the scraping of wood along carpet, but all he could see was the ceiling.

With superhuman effort he rolled his head round from being propped on the back of the headboard where it had fallen so it slipped down closer to his shoulder, and he could see Dean was back in his chair again, closer to the bed now, within reaching distance.

The nausea was lifting but his muscles still ached and he still felt abnormally heavy, but he was feeling more awake now, Dean's weird behaviour being more of a stimulus than caffeine.

"Dean, what the hell's going on?"

Dean shifted uncomfortably. "What's the last thing you remember?"

"Honestly?" Sam swallowed, trying to peel back the fog lacing his brain. "I remember pineapple's for wimps."

"Damn right it is," Dean agreed, but he couldn't quite make the smile reach his eyes. "How about after that?"

"Not much to be honest with you. It gets a little hazy. What happened?"

Dean's eyes flicked away from him and for the first time since waking Sam allowed his own to move beyond his brother and take in the rest of the room. The rest of their severely trashed room.

"Dean..?" he shifted slightly to get a better view, wincing at the pull on abused muscles. "Wha..?"

"I think you took offence at the décor. Now orange isn't normally my colour either, but…" Dean trailed off with a shrug as though he couldn't bring himself to keep it up, but Sam gave him points for effort. He looked as exhausted as Sam felt; that he could attempt banter on any scale left Sam impressed.

"I don't think I wanna know, do I?" he whispered. The state of the room, the bruises and aches on his own body, and Dean's obvious unease were all adding up to tell a story that was painfully clear. If he'd been dubious before, there could be no doubting Dean's words now.

He caught sight of the clock winking up at him from among the wreckage. It was 3am, and it had barely been getting dark the last he remembered. He had no idea where he'd been, and he'd left Dean alone for hours. And taking in the state of the room, there was no telling what he was capable of.

"Oh God… I didn't hurt you did I? I mean…" The world was spinning slightly and the air felt tight, and the pained look in Dean's eyes told him everything, and he'd been trying to warn Dean about this, their father had tried to warn Dean about this, and if he wasn't in control of his own actions then how could he even begin to…

"Not physically," Dean admitted quietly, then "hey, come on… breathe for me." And Sam's head was lowered and there was a firm hand on the back on his neck, and the roaring in his ears started to subside slightly even if the fear wouldn't go away.

"Better?" Dean questioned, "You still with me?"

"I don't know," Sam choked out miserably. He could feel himself starting to get emotional in his confusion, and he was too tired still to really do much to contain it. But he could be honest and Dean needed that. Right now he was pretty sure it was the only thing he _could_ do.

**TBC**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** As before

**Chapter 4**

Dean looked up over the top of the recovered laptop to find Sam chewing on a pen lid and staring absently into space.

"Sammy?" He called, breathing out a sigh of relief as Sam jumped and made eye contact.

"Yeah, I'm doing it, sorry," he smiled ruefully, "I was just thinking."

Dean nodded and looked back at the empty search engine in front of him, breathing deep as his heart rate returned to normal again. He'd got Sam writing down a detailed account of everything he _did_ remember since the spirit in Providence had messed with his mind on the off change there was something the ex-father had said, or a memory of something that had never happened, that might clue Dean in as to what was going on.

He could only hope that when he looked over Sam's account it wasn't all gibberish. He wasn't sure what worried him more, Sam's frenzied writing or the long pauses to think, but Sam did seem to have been coherent since he'd finally got onboard with the fact something was wrong.

Dean closed his eyes and tried to will the memories of Sam's last descent into madness away. Sam had been so long in coming back to himself that Dean had started to fear he never would. He'd been met by that bemused expression and subjected to his incoherent ramblings so many times that Dean had been reluctant to engage. There were only so many false starts he could take.

But Sam was with him now, and Dean would try and hold back the fear over how long for this time and instead use Sam's mind while it was clear to help him. Because Dean had absolutely no idea where to start.

-0-

Against his better judgment, Dean finally allowed Sam to drift off to sleep on the bed. He'd tried everything he could think of to keep his younger brother awake, but Sam's responses to his questions had tapered off until he sat on the bed, head cradled in his hands, as if in a stupor.

Dean wanted to shake Sam, make him respond, keep him coherent, but the long day had taken a toll on both brothers.

As he snugged the orange comforter up around Sam's shoulders, Dean allowed himself to sink onto the edge of the bed that his younger brother was using. He closed his eyes as some of the most gut-wrenching scenes he'd ever been witness to, played out across the inside of his eyelids.

_Sam's hands were clenched so tight around the wheel that his arms were corded, and the eyes that were flicking madly over the dash where tinged with panic… Sam took a deep, steadying breath. "I can't…"_

_Dean snatched wildly at Sam's back and his fingers latched with desperation onto the collar of Sam's jacket. His brother heaved and jerked at the restriction, bent on leaping from the car…the moving car. _

_When his brother continued to struggle, Dean manhandled him until he was on his back, eyes staring ahead but seeing nothing, furiously panting for oxygen. He secured Sam by sitting on his stomach and pressing his right forearm against Sam's windpipe. When Sam continued to thrash, Dean increased the pressure on Sam's throat. The gleam of nothingness in Sam's eyes dimmed as his eyelids fluttered closed. _

"_No… I… DEAN!" Dean flinched at the primal way Sam screamed his name, backing away slightly to avoid the volume of the second shout that tore its way out of Sam's already abused throat. "Dean. I need…" Sam's eyes were darting and as Dean stepped forward...Sam feigned, and even as Dean reached in to close the distance his brother darted in the other direction, escaping Dean's grasp. Whatever was going on in Sam's head he was beyond terrified, and Dean wasn't too far behind him in that. _

_Dean held on tight, more terrified of what would happen if he let go…Sam continued to try and push and twist his way free but his arms and body lacked any leverage locked tight in Dean's embrace…there was nothing Sam could do that could hurt more than his tearful pleas for release, his screams for a brother he didn't seem to realize was right there, rocking him gently and whispering into his hair. _

It was a nightmare. Forced to watch his bright, intuitive, logical brother fly apart at the seams. And nothing Dean had tried had gotten through to Sam. Each time he had "an episode" it took longer for his brother to return to his normal, coherent state.

Dean was strung out on worry and exhausted from subduing Sam's earlier frantic motions. He forced himself to look at Sam's handwritten account but his eyes refused to stay open. The notebook dropped to the lumpy bed as Dean lowered his head to his brother's chest. He could feel Sam's respirations; hear the soft lub-dub of his heartbeat. Like a puppy seeking out its mother's heartbeat, Dean allowed the sounds that proved Sam was alive to lull him to sleep.

He'd just rest his eyes for awhile and then he'd get back to it. Sam's sanity, his very life, rested in Dean's hands.

-0-

Dean's cell phone trilled out, rousing him from a bad dream. His little brother was sitting against a padded wall, a straight jacket immobilizing his arms, rocking back and forth. Not a bad dream, a nightmare.

Sam could easily end up like that if Dean didn't get a handle on what was causing his 'psychotic breaks', for lack of a better term.

Shaking off the last dregs of the nightmare, Dean grabbed his phone off the nightstand. Squinting at the display he saw it was Bobby.

"Hey, Bobby."

"Don't you 'hey Bobby' me. Where the hell are you boys and where's my book? I thought you said you'd drop it off for me yesterday."

Dean could hear the underlying worry in the older man's harsh tone. But he didn't know what to do about it. By all rights the book should have been to Bobby's two days ago but they'd adhered to Sam' rule of thumb – figure in a little extra time when asked to give a deadline; if you completed the task earlier, you looked better. Or in this case, it prevented Bobby from sounding the alarm earlier.

Bobby was a trusted family friend, but Sam was Dean's responsibility, no-one else's.

"Sam had a stomach thing and we decided to pull over and stay the night. I didn't believe him when he said Taco Bell didn't agree with him. He's such a wuss."

Silence greeted his words. Bobby was smart. He knew something was off. And Dean wasn't thinking clearly, was having trouble throwing Bobby off their scent.

"Put Sam on the line for me, would ya? I want to talk to him about some research he asked me to do for him."

Dean's eyes swept over the rumpled form of his brother. Skin pale. Hair disheveled. And definitely out for the count. Dean's eyes moved to the clock radio and realized it was 10:00 a.m. He'd only meant to sleep for a couple of hours. Shit.

"Dean? What's going on over there?"

Bobby's voice was insistent. And Dean didn't know what to do.

Sam's eyes chose that moment to blink open and Dean read the crazed panic in them.

"Bobby, I need to go. Sam's…something's wrong with Sam. I'll…call you later."

"Damn it, Dean! Don't hang up. I can tell something's wrong. You never were able to lie to me worth a lick. Now spill it."

His little brother was looking around the room in confusion. Dean eased himself off the bed and across the room. Maybe it he didn't hover over Sam, his brother would relax.

"Dean!"

Giving in to the stress of the last two days, Dean found himself unburdening himself. "It's Sam. He's…something's not right. At first he forgot how to drive the car. Then he spaced out over breakfast. Bobby, he tried jumping out of the Impala…while we were doing 70. And he tore up the motel room. He's losing it and I don't know what to do for him."

"Where are you?"

When Dean gave Bobby the name and location of the motel they were staying at, the older man sighed. "You're about two hours away from me. Try to keep your brother calm. And be thinking on what or who could have caused this. Sam's been through a lot, I don't think he'd just crack under the strain. Something is messing with his head."

They said their goodbyes and broke the connection. Dean sank on to the empty bed. He felt better for having told Bobby about the situation. The older hunter was right – Sam wouldn't just crack up. Something was doing this, playing with his mind, and Dean needed to figure out what.

Sam's eyes had drifted closed again. Dean stood up and approached the bed with trepidation. He didn't want to set his little brother off, but he needed to read what Sam had written in the notebook.

Dean was relying on the answer to Sam's problems being somewhere in his brother's scribbled notes.

-0-

Every muscle in Sam's body throbbed in time to his heartbeat. He felt as though his dad had put him through one of his famous training exercises. The kind where Dean excelled and Sam's deficiencies were put on display for his family.

He was too slow. He lacked focus and commitment. His aim was crappy. His balance was worse. He was going to get someone killed if he didn't get his act together.

Good times.

Except John Winchester was dead. He'd sent Sam out for coffee at the hospital and when he'd returned, he'd found his dad on the floor.

He opened his eyes and found Dean standing over him, a look he couldn't place on his sibling's face.

It mostly resembled unhappiness.

A part of him thought Dean was sorry he'd been saddled with Sam while their dad had died, cutting some sort of deal to save Dean's life.

Dean was stuck with Sam while their dad died.

And then there was the whole Sam going dark-side thing.

For a moment, back in Rhode Island, Sam had thought he'd found redemption. He'd convinced himself he'd seen an angel, been entrusted with a mission.

His brother drifted to the other side of the room. Sam couldn't blame him. He wouldn't want to be around himself if he were in Dean's shoes.

Sam wasn't Dean's brother any longer.

He was his burden.

He let his eyes drift shut again. He should be getting up, helping Dean get ready to hit the road – _they were always on the road, unable to stop _– but he couldn't get his body to obey his brain's command to move.

He really was pathetic.

-0-

Dean read through the notebook, taking in the everyday minutia that made up Sam's existence. Wake up. Worry. Fight evil. Get in the Impala and start the cycle all over again.

He'd been so consumed with rage at his dad's last words to him that he could barely function, didn't have the energy to pay attention to his brother.

Never mind the fact that he'd considered his dad a hero, the very best man he knew, and he was now gone from his life.

He'd been so busy trying to put that into perspective that he'd lost sight of what Sam had lost, too. How much Sam's life had changed, and not for the better. How the young man who had everything going for him – brains, charisma, good looks – was now reduced to trying to stop a demon, controlling his visions, and running from the law.

Dean stared at the pages in his hand filled with ink. The writing was nothing like the usual crisp, concise strokes Dean was used to seeing when reading his brother's notes.

And Sam had fought, and lost, the battle to stay between the lines. The words on the right side of the page tapered downward, as if trying to slide off the page. The words themselves were some sort of stream of consciousness instead of the usual logical, precise sentences Sam normally employed.

_Fell asleep in the car and dreamt about Father Gregory; he told me I could be saved if I accepted his mission. I passed out and when I woke up, Dean had me take a sip from his flask. He said it was whiskey but it tasted like holy water. My own brother, afraid of me. Shapeshifters invaded the church and Dean and I had to make a run for it. I knew it wasn't Dean in my dream because Dean doesn't run away from anything. Except the FBI._

_Took some Tylenol while Dean ran into the convenience store to pay for gas and grab us some sandwiches; he worries anytime I get a headache now. But it was just a headache. No vision. Nothing supernatural at work. A good, old stress headache. _

_Popped some more Tylenol in Illinois. We stopped at a diner but the smell made me sick to my stomach. Too much grease. But I didn't tell Dean; he already tells me I'm 'fragile' and I didn't want to give him ammunition to give me shit._

_Woke up as we crossed the state line into Nebraska. I can't believe I slept for so long but I finally managed to kick the headache. Actually, I think it was a migraine but Dean would freak out if I told him I got those. He already thinks I'm a freak._

_Dean got excited when he spotted the Taco Hell. Bumped into Mrs. Rourke on the street down from Esoterica. I don't believe in coincidences but the woman does live in Omaha so it's not much of a stretch to think she'd be down town and we're the ones who don't live here. Dean was freaked. Mrs. Rourke scared the crap out of me when she grabbed my arm with her cold, clammy hands but I think I over-reacted. She's just a grieving lonely old woman. Dean was traumatized until he pushed me into the street light. That seemed to make him feel better._

Dean's eyes lifted from the page and stared at his still brother resting on the bed. Mrs. Rourke. That had to be it. Really, what were the chances that the woman would just happen to be down by the bookstore they were about to visit. And she'd been creepier than hell.

And when she'd touched Sam, Dean had been afraid she was trying to steal his life away. Like those cursed Reapers.

Putting some sort of spell or hex on Sam would certainly be payback for Dean living while Layla had died. Mrs. Rourke had known they were brothers, knew they were close.

It had to be Mrs. Rourke. Maybe she'd used some sort of voodoo or witchcraft to drive his little brother crazy. She had to know Dean didn't care about himself...the best way to strike at him was to take out the person who meant the most to him.

Sam.

And she was probably just crazy enough to figure out driving Sam loony tunes would have a stronger impact on Dean than just about any other ailment.

Sam was special. It wasn't just the whole psychic connection with the demon thing. He'd always been special. The smartest kid in his class. Smarter than Dean most of the time. Some sort of genius. And he'd read somewhere (Playboy?) that there was a higher rate of mental illness among geniuses.

Crossing to the bathroom, Dean splashed water on his face and brushed his teeth. He looked like shit and would have loved to take a shower before Bobby arrived, but he was afraid Sam would try something if he left him alone for any length of time.

God, it hurt to see Sam like this. Confused. Injured. And most of all, scared.

Scared of Dean.

Stepping into the doorway, Dean verified that Sam hadn't pulled a Houdini on him. No, the kid was still curled on his side, a frown marring his face.

Dean quietly walked over to the desk with the laptop perched on it. He wasn't quite as handy as Sam with the thing but he was no slouch. He was pretty sure he could access records on Mrs. Rourke — where she lived, maybe where she worked.

And when Bobby arrived, Dean would be headed for Omaha...ready to confront the bitch who was messing with his little brother.

-0-

Bobby didn't know what to expect when he knocked softly on the motel room door. Almost before his hand touched the faux wood, Dean was jerking open the door and yanking Bobby inside.

For a moment Bobby thought Dean had gotten it wrong, that he was the one losing it. There were dark circles under his panicky eyes and his pallid skin was filled with stubble. The boy looked rough.

Not one to jump to conclusions, Bobby's eyes swept around the room in search of Sam. There was no sign of the youngest Winchester but the shower could be heard plainly through the open bathroom door.

Most people showered with the door closed, but there was definitely something strange going on and he was sure the open door was just a small part of it.

"I made him keep the door open. It's not safe. He's not safe."

Dean's voice was low and raw and his hands shook. Probably with fatigue if his appearance was any indicator.

Bobby worked hard to control his voice so it came out soft and mellow. It was like talking to a spooked horse. "Why don't you tell me what's going on here and we'll put some sort of game plan together."

If Dean was in such a state, Bobby couldn't really imagine what Sam would be like when he finished in the bathroom.

The smile that overtook Dean's face was part sneer, wiping the humor away from the usually animated features. "Oh, I've got the game plan. I know who the bitch is that did this to Sam. I'm going back to Omaha and I'm going to end her. Damn Lila Rourke. Can you please keep an eye on Sam while I'm gone?"

Bobby had seen Dean focused before. Hell, he'd even seen a mean streak in him before that was rivaled only by the one that had resided within John Winchester. But this time the usually happy-go-lucky younger man had deadly intent written in his body language and Bobby almost felt sorry for the sucker Dean was gunning for.

Almost, but not quite.

Bobby tugged at the whiskers on his chin thoughtfully. "Of course I will, Dean. But what do you want me to do? You haven't exactly filled me in on what's going on around here."

Dean closed his eyes and took a breath. His behavior was starting to really concern Bobby. Maybe whatever was affecting Sam was also playing with Dean's mind.

But when Dean's eyes opened, that thought was dispelled. There was a calculated clarity in the wide green eyes staring back at him. Not madness. Resolve. "Just keep him safe. Don't let him hurt himself. Or you, for that matter. Try to keep him calm. I don't know, Bobby. Just do the best you can."

A gravelly, haunted voice warbled out from the bathroom. "Dean...you still there?"

Bobby's heart almost broke at the plaintive sound emitted from the other room.

And just like that, the menacing, don't-fuck-with-me manner in Dean receded and was replaced by patience. "Right here, Sammy. I'm going to bring you your clothes. Then Bobby here is going to stay with you while I run some errands."

Errands. That must be the current Winchester codeword for kill someone.

Dean scooped some clothes off the bed and approached the bathroom. Bobby could hear Sam whispering something and heard Dean's placating tone but couldn't make out what was being said.

Sam finally shuffled out of the bathroom, clothed in sweatpants and t-shirt, Dean gripping one of his upper arms as he escorted him across to a bed. Dean carefully guided Sam down on to the surface and hovered over his weak brother.

If Bobby had thought Dean looked rough, it was nothing in comparison to the youngest Winchester. Right eye rapidly blackening, lips chapped and bloodless, shoulders hunched forward.

Since Sam had hit his teens, Bobby had always associated him with a nimble mind and confidence to spare. While Dean sometimes came off as cocky, Sam usually appeared self possessed. It used to bug the shit of John Winchester when his youngest would go toe-to-toe with him, something that seasoned hunters wouldn't even dare.

Self esteem. That's what the kid had in spades.

But now it was like he was looking at a dried out husk. Sam's eyes were downcast and small shivers rippled through his frame. He'd yet to lift his face and acknowledge Bobby's presence.

Dean knelt down before a sitting Sam, chafing a hand between his own. "Hey, Sammy. Why don't you kick back and relax, maybe watch a little boob tube. Bobby here will keep you company but I promise I won't be gone long. And when I come back, you'll feel better. Okay?"

Sam's lower lip actually seemed to quiver. Dean freed a hand to brush through Sam's bangs, combing them to the side. It might have been his imagination, but Bobby could have sworn Dean palmed Sam's bruised cheek softly before standing up.

It was an out of character displayto witness — tenderness extended from one brother to the other in front of someone else — but this gesture, more than anything else, drove home the point of how wacky things were in the Winchester world.

Grabbing up a bag that had been stowed deeply under the other bed, Dean slung it over his shoulder and marched for the door. "Please take care of Sammy for me. I'll be back as soon as I can."

And with those words, Dean departed the motel room leaving a void of silence in his wake.

-0-

Sam huddled on the bed. Dean had told him to kick back, relax, and when his big brother returned, Sam would feel better.

Feel better than what?

His mind had disconnected from his body, or at least that's the way it seemed. Hunched over, elbows on his thighs, Sam couldn't stand the numbness of it all.

Bunching his right hand into a fist, he brought it down sharply on his thigh.

Nothing. No tingling sensation. No pain. Just a vacuum.

Maybe he hadn't punched hard enough. Drawing up both fists, he let them fly, pummeling his legs on the down swing and his face on the return.

"Jesus, Sam. No."

Sam knew he should recognize that voice. Dean had said someone was here in the room, someone would take care of him. Why couldn't he remember who?

His breaths were coming in furious pants as his fists unleashed their anger, his vision clouding with sparks of white, gray and black.

Sam's hearing narrowed down to the labored sounds of his breathing and the chanting of his mind…hit, strike, stun…as his body strove to forge some sort of connection with the world around him.

Hands grasped his wrists, tugging him backward. A tightness pervaded Sam's chest as someone smothered him. A weight was pressing him down.

Turning his head, Sam gnashed with his teeth, trying to bite at whatever or whoever restrained him against the bed.

His left wrist was loosened and then something connected with his left cheekbone, snapping his head hard to the right.

His ears popped and Sam could hear again. "Damn it, Sam. It's me, Bobby. Can you hear me?"

Sam's head lolled back and his body relaxed as he figured out who was in the room with him.

Bobby Singer.

Bobby liked Dean. He wasn't sure Bobby liked Sam but he always helped him with a question or problem. His tongue could be harsh but he was patient in his own way.

A vague though teased his brain. Lately when he talked to Bobby on the phone, the older man seemed distant, couldn't wait to hurry through the conversation or flat out asked to speak to his brother. Bobby probably blamed Sam for his daddy's death. And Sam couldn't blame Bobby for thinking that way.

After all, Sam was the bad seed.

A warm hand pressed against his abused right cheek. "Sam, you with me now?"

Blinking to clear his dry, aching eyes, Sam concentrated on focusing on the man towering over him.

"Sam, I need a little sign here. If I let you up, do you promise not to bite me?"

Sam zeroed in on the crows-feet surrounding the faded blue eyes staring intently back at him. The wrinkles intrigued him. Reminded him of his dad.

John Winchester had crows-feet and graying hair at the temples but he'd never been patient with Sam. Leastways not since Sam had been a teen. _Grow up. Ungrateful brat. If you're going, stay gone._

His world spun as his legs were lifted and rotated until he reclined flat on the bed.

Sam concentrated hard, tried to push the word past dry, cracked lips. "Bobby."

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** Still the same

**A/N** - Sendintheclowns: Thank you so much to the talented Floralia for agreeing to write with me; not only is she extremely creative but I enjoyed her sense of humor even while she was writing some of the best crazy Sam scenes I've ever read. And thanks again to BlueEyedDemonLiz for the mad beta skills she employed to get the story out on time...that gal is one in a million. I will admit it was really weird plotting a story without Gidgetgal9's input but hopefully the birthday girl (you're the best girlfriend!) enjoyed the fic.

**A/N** – Floralia: Thanks so much to the very awesome Sendintheclowns for providing such emotional depth and a cohesive storyline around my 'Sam goes really crazy – I have no idea why'. And thanks to BlueEyedDemonLiz for the speedy beta – I'm still amazed we managed to finish this on time (admit it Gidgetgal9, you were thinking it too). We really hope you enjoy how it all turns out.

**Chapter 5**

After Dean left, Bobby had eased himself around the other bed and sunk down on the spongy surface, facing Sam.

He couldn't believe he was looking at Sam Winchester. The young man was damp from his shower, head bent, looking beat upon and downtrodden.

Clearing his voice, Bobby tried to reach the young hunter. "Hey, Sam. Looks like you've hit a bit of a rough patch."

Sam didn't pick his head up. Didn't flinch. Didn't react in any way, shape or form to Bobby's words.

Dean hadn't been over reacting. Sam was in really bad shape.

Content to just sit with the boy, Bobby cast his eyes about the room. He could see evidence of the melee in the crooked picture on the wall, the debris sticking out of the waste basket, and the curtains pulled partially down from over the window.

Bobby spied a notebook on the desk against the wall and with nothing else to occupy his attention, he decided to flip through it. Slowly he eased off the bed and retrieved the notebook. As he perched on the edge of the bed, trying to be silent so as not to spook Sam, his eyes perused the haphazard words dancing across the page.

Out of the corner of his eye, Bobby noticed a slight movement. Raising his head he watched in fascination as Sam's hand clenched into a tight fist and struck angrily at his thigh.

"Sam, what's going on?"

So this was the zoned out, erratic behavior Dean had alluded to. Bobby had to say, it was creepy. The kid wasn't completely silent, his head cocked to the side.

With another burst of energy, Sam struck out with both fists, walloping thighs, chest, face…anything his fists could reach.

"Jesus, Sam. No."

Sam's face was lax. Blank.

Dean had asked him to protect Sam, and keeping the young hunter from beating the crap out of himself certainly qualified.

Bobby surged to his feet and leaned over Sam, easily capturing the thin wrists as they battered away at an already bruised body. He pressed the wrists, jittering beneath his hands, against the bed.

Without warning, Sam's head turned and teeth clashed together as the boy tried to take a chunk of Bobby's flesh.

Not wanting to, but out of other ideas, Bobby loosened the grip his right hand had on Sam's wrist and smacked his face with a resounding slap. Brown locks of hair flew as Sam's head rocked hard to the right.

He hadn't meant to strike Sam so hard but at the rate they were going, someone was going to get seriously hurt. "Damn it, Sam. It's me, Bobby. Can you hear me?"

Sam's head rolled back on his neck until his eyes stared straight ahead.

Bobby touched the red cheek with the hand that just delivered the wallop. He kept the other wrist trapped, senses on guard for another attack. "Sam, you with me now?"

Large, hazel eyes lazily blinked, pupils shrinking and enlarging under Bobby's watchful stare.

Bloodless lips parted and mumbled.

Bobby released his grip on Sam's other wrist and leaned closer in an effort to catch what the dazed kid was saying.

"_Grow up, Sam. It's past time you acted like a man."_

"_You self__**-**__centered, ungrateful brat. All's you care about is yourself."_

"_Fine, you want to go to school, go. If you're going, stay gone."_

Bobby cringed at the words rolling off of Sam's tongue. Vintage John Winchester, if Bobby's guess was right. And words that had cut the youngest Winchester deeply.

When Sam had hit his teen years, he'd learned the knack for pissing off almost everyone around him. At the time, Bobby had felt the same way as everyone else…_shut the hell up and do as you're told_. He'd never really thought about the toll his, and more importantly John's and Dean's, attitudes would take on the young man.

Everyone was so impatient for Sam to outgrow his soccer games, and debates and schooling that kept him and his family from participating in certain hunts. Bobby could easily recall the exasperation and frustration in John's voice as he turned down hunt after hunt due to Sam's commitments. That is until Sam turned 16. Then the boy had been expected to toe the line.

Bobby had to admit to being amused when Sam showed up John on occasion. There was no denying it, Sam was smart as a whip. But John had wanted sons who obeyed without question and Sam just couldn't bring himself to do that.

Sam had a wide streak of idealism that didn't mesh with the world he'd been thrust into. Bobby certainly hadn't understood it.

Deep down, Bobby had felt more connected to Dean. Knew what drove him, his likes and dislikes, his personality.

But Sam had been a bit of a mystery. Now Bobby wished he'd tried a little harder. There were clearly things he hadn't realized, hadn't taken the time to think about.

Sam continued his broken litany of short comings. It sounded downright abusive when it was strung together at one time.

The one that got to Bobby the most was the one about staying gone…Bobby could only assume that had to do with the whopper of a fight that had occurred when Sam left the family high and dry for Stanford.

At least that's what Bobby had been given to believe. However, if there was any truth to the crazed mutterings, it would appear that the young man had finally obeyed John when he'd left for the west coast.

Sam finally ran out of steam, his last broken words being the most memorable. "Too little, too late."

The youngest Winchester lapsed into silence, blinking confusion at the world. Bobby waited on tenterhooks for Sam's next move.

The forehead wrinkled, his blank look receding at last. Maybe Sam was finally going to snap out of it. Whatever "it" was. "Sam, I need a little sign here. If I let you up, do you promise not to bite me?"

Blue veins stood out in start relief against the whiteness of Sam's skin; it was worrying, as was the way Sam continuously blinked. The kid looked like he was going to pass out. Bobby reached down and lifted Sam's legs, shifting his body until he was stretched out on the bed.

Sam's eyes finally settled on Bobby's face, showing a spark of recognition. "Bobby."

"Yeah, it's me kid. You doing okay?"

Pursing his lips in concentration, Sam mulled over the question. "Where's Dean?"

Crap. Those infamous puppy-dog eyes were welling with moisture. And the kid looked like, well frankly, a kid.

A kid whose family had given him a hard time. Hell, Bobby had given him a hard time, if only in his own mind. It was a wonder Sam had turned out as well as he did.

Except for this going crazy thing.

Tired of waiting for Bobby to reply, Sam's eyelids sunk down. Bobby hadn't meant to ignore him.

Looking around, Bobby spied a glass of water on the nightstand. Sam could probably do with some liquid. And maybe a pain reliever. The younger man had shown no quarter as be beat his fists against his body.

"I'm going to get you some Tylenol, okay?"

Before Bobby could move, Sam threw out a hand spastically, brushing harmlessly against Bobby's leg. "No, don't. Please. Need to feel…"

Christ on a crutch. Sam was breaking his heart. Retrieving the water, Bobby slid a hand under Sam's head and lifted. "Small sips."

It didn't take much coaxing for Sam to drink all of the water and when at last Bobby pulled the glass away, Sam's face was more relaxed. "Thanks, Bobby."

Definitely more coherent.

Bobby sat heavily on the other bed. No wonder Dean had been so panicked. Coping with Sam's outbursts was exhausting.

Wishing he had a cup of coffee, or more like a pot of it, Bobby resigned himself to keeping watch over Sam. The young man's eyes finally drifted closed, and for the first time since Bobby had entered the motel room Sam's face was peaceful.

The calm before the storm? Bobby sure as hell hoped not. He was getting too old for this shit.

Settling back more comfortably on the bed, Bobby picked up the discarded notebook and started trying to decipher the uneven handwriting.

Bobby read through the entries about Father Gregory, Sam's mission, and his shapeshifter dream. Poor kid was good and screwed up. But who wasn't these days?

He breezed through the bits about pulling over for gas and food and headaches and migraines. Sometimes headaches were a sign of possession. Bobby withdrew his own flask, filled with holy water instead of alcohol, and splattered some splashes over the sleeping Sam. No sizzle. No burn.

When Sam shivered, Bobby set the notebook aside and pulled the comforter off the bed he'd been sitting on. He draped it carefully over the young man. As sick as Sam seemed to be in the head, his body also seemed to be fighting something.

Bobby resettled himself on the bed he'd just vacated and took up reading where he'd left off. He wasn't sure why Dean was set on Mrs. Rourke being the cause of Sam's distress, but he hadn't been there to see it firsthand. He hoped to God that Dean was right. He wasn't sure how much more Sam, or Dean for that matter, could take.

His lips quirked into a smile as he read the part about Sam being startled and knocking books off the shelving, and then Dean calling him a spazz before wrapping his hand in a bandana. The next sentence about Sam hoping he hadn't spilled any blood on the books made Bobby's own blood run cold.

Blood. Books of magic. That was a deadly combination.

Wasting no time, Bobby fished out his cell phone and scrolled through the contacts. He wasn't a fan of all of the new technology available these days but he had to admit, this little gadget was handy. Locating the number for Esoterica, he pushed the button to put the call through.

"Good afternoon, Esoterica. What do you want."

Ignoring the flat inflection of the odd greeting and the slight lisp of the clerk on the other end of the connection, Bobby forged forward. "My name is Bobby Singer. I had two of my friends pick up a book for me yesterday."

Before Bobby could ask any questions, there was a long, drawn out sigh. "All sales are final."

Supercilious twit. "That's not why I'm calling. I've got a few questions about the guys who picked up the book for me."

Now the clerk's voice turned coy. "Oh, I remember them well. That was two days ago they picked up the book. The tall one was a klutz, just about took out a fortune in rare books. But he was so cute, I had to forgive him. If the other one hadn't towed him out of the store by the hand, I would have slipped him my number."

Way more information than Bobby wanted to know. At least in regard to the clerk's sexual orientation. The clerk had imparted a bit of information that piqued his interest. "You said they picked up my book two days ago. Have you noticed anything…out of the ordinary happening in the store since then?"

A high pitched naying laughter assaulted Bobby's ears. "Dude, I work in a shop with books full of magic and sorcery and death spells…stuff tends to happen all of the time. But there has been an increase in activity. In fact it started right up after your friends left here. Lights flickering. Phone line going out. Cold spots in the room. You know, the usual. Only pretty much non-stop. The owner was going to stop by today and look around. I checked the books in that section where the hottie tipped them off of the shelf but all of them seemed in good condition."

The general sense of unease that had prompted Bobby to call the Esoterica was now shifting into full alert. Sam had been bleeding, had handled books, and now there was an increase in paranormal activity in the book store.

Bad news.

Although maybe, it explained Sam's current condition. Blood rituals were sometimes needed to activate certain spells. All's it would take was someone to read the spell out loud and then blood to be introduced to the proceedings. Like blood touching the page the spell was on. Usually there was more to it than that but some of the books at this particular book store were very old and very powerful.

Bobby heard the rumble of the Impala and glanced at the clock, shocked to see that five hours had passed since Dean had left Sam in his care.

Checking on the exhausted hunter in the bed, Bobby noticed no change. He went to the door and let in a bedraggled Dean.

Dean's eyes were haunted and he kept rubbing a hand over his stomach. "How is he? How's Sam?"

"He had a little fit but he's sleeping now. Dean, I don't think there's been a change. What happened?"

Rushing to Sam's side, Dean laid a hand on Sam's forehead. "Sammy, can you wake up for me? I'm back."

Bobby wanted to give the brothers some privacy but he needed to talk to Dean about what he'd found out about Esoterica. He turned his head and stared at the crooked picture on the wall but he couldn't block the whispered words from reaching his ear.

"D'n?"

"Yeah, Sammy. It's me. How you doing?"

Long pause. "Head's…fuzzy. Wrong. When…better?"

Dean had told Sam when he returned, that Sam would feel better. So far that wasn't happening.

Shaking fingers tucked the orange comforter around Sam. "Why don't you close your eyes, Sammy. Try to get some sleep. I'll be right here."

Sam's eyes drifted shut, complying with Dean's request. The older brother stood up, shoulders hunched, and walked back to Bobby. "I screwed up, Bobby. It wasn't Mrs. Rourke."

"I know. I think Sam got blood on a book at Esoterica and activated a spell."

There was a blank look on Dean's face that slowly turned to disbelief. "Blood? But…"

As exhausted as Dean was, and as scared as he definitely was for Sam, Bobby couldn't hold on to his patience anymore when faced with Dean's obliviousness. "I thought you _had already _read through Sam's notes?

A fire banked in Dean's eyes and he drew himself up to his full height. "I did. And that's why I thought Mrs. Rourke…"

Bobby cut him off. Heaven help him from idiots. "Did you even read the next section of Sam's notes? As soon as I saw the part about Sam bleeding and touching the books, I knew something could have happened. And when I called the book store, they said there'd been a surge in paranormal activity…starting up right after you left."

The blood drained from Dean's face but Bobby was on a roll and couldn't stop himself. "Jesus! A pair of knuckleheads is what you are. The sons of John Winchester, seasoned hunters in your own right, and you act like a couple of novices."

Heading for the door, Bobby paused to look at the stricken older brother. "I'm going to the Esoterica to see if I can fix the problem. I'll call you after I think I've got it handled. Oh, and Dean? Do the phrases "if you're going, stay gone" and "too little, too late" mean anything to you? 'Cause they sure seem to be on Sam's mind."

Ignoring the way Dean blanched, Bobby sailed out the door and headed for his truck.

There'd be time enough to make things right with Dean later. At least he hoped so. For now, Sam needed to be his priority.

Bobby found himself mumbling to himself. _Sam needed to be someone's priority. Not because he was someone's son, or little brother or because he was at the center of the demon mess. But because he __**was**__ worth it._

-0-

Dean reeled as though someone had gut punched him.

Blood mixing with spell books. He should have seen it. Hell, Sam should have seen it.

What the hell was wrong with them?

They'd both been distracted – their dad's death and big reveal about Sam, landing on the FBI's most wanted list, Sam believing in angels – but they couldn't afford distractions. Distractions got you killed. Or maimed. Or put under wacky spells.

Sam made a noise and rolled his legs off the bed until his lower body was sitting but his upper body was still stretched out. "D'n?"

"Yeah, kiddo, what's the matter?"

Dean moved quickly to his brother's side, sizing up the situation. Eyes bleary and at half mast. Limbs struggling for coordination. No improvement.

"Sorry."

His little brother's voice was filled with sadness. "Sorry for what? You didn't do anything wrong."

Scrunching his face up, Sam's confused mind worked hard to make the words come out. "You…were…right. I…bad son. I…worse brother."

This didn't sound good. Sam's words and halting delivery made Dean think of his tequila binge. Dean couldn't cope with anymore scenes. But apparently Sam hadn't gotten that memo.

"'Member when…and I…and then…dad said…sorry, D'n."

Sam was making absolutely no sense and the sad part was that he knew it, agitation making his voice quiver and his limbs twinge.

Dean sat on the bed next to his brother and pulled his upper body up, hauling him against his chest. Rocking him to and fro, Dean tried to get Sam to relax. All of this anxiety couldn't be good for him. "Shhh, it's okay Sammy. You didn't do anything wrong."

"When went to Sta…to sch…missed you. Tried call…but wouldn't…pick up."

He remembered the argument vividly. His dad and Sam screaming at one another until John Winchester got eerily calm, told Sam to stay gone if he left. And Sam had. Left that is.

For some reason Dean had always believed Sam had just taken off without a thought about what he was leaving behind, who he was leaving behind. Dean had smashed his cell phone in a fit of temper. Maybe things would have turned out differently if he hadn't done that, if he'd talked to Sam.

"Miss D'n…miss da…miss my Je…girl. All gone."

Running a hand up and down Sam's arm in an effort to calm him, Dean tried to reach him with words. "Sammy, I'm right here. It's Dean. I'm not going anywhere."

Dean looked down to the bent head leaning on his shoulder. Tilting the heavy head back, Dean was taken aback by the scared face in front of him. When Sam's arms lifted and dropped back into his lap, Dean had a memory of Sam at age one, standing in his crib, arms stretched out, face beseeching; Sammy was babbling, needed something, but damned if five-year-old Dean could figure it out and his little brother didn't have the words to tell him.

"Can't 'member…"

That phrase flipped a switch in Dean's head. Sam wasn't going crazy, he was losing his memory. Forgetting how to drive, how to eat, even who Dean was…and Sam seemed to be fighting hard to retain some of himself.

Reaching into his pocket, Dean pulled out his cell phone and punched in Bobby's number. Arm wrapped tightly around Sam, keeping him close, Dean impatiently waited for his friend to answer.

"Dean? I just got into the book store and we're in the section where Rob remembers watching Sam."

"Listen, Bobby. I think the spell or curse or whatever it is, is affecting Sam's memory. Anything like that on the shelf at eye level?"

Dean could hear the older hunter barking out questions, hear the faint voice of another man in reply.

"Hang on, Dean. I think we might have something. I'll call you back in ten minutes."

Sam's lips were moving but no sound was emerging, his head thrashing lightly against Dean's shoulder.

Bobby's earlier words replayed in Dean's head… _Sam needed to be someone's priority. Not because he was someone's son, or little brother or because he was at the center of the demon mess. But because he __was __worth it._ Dean didn't even know if Bobby had been cognizant that he was talking aloud as he stormed out to his truck, but he'd heard the words.

And they had stung.

Dean had always put Sammy first. If he was hungry, Dean fed him. If he was dirty, Dean made sure he got cleaned up. He begged, borrowed and stole to keep Sam in clothing. And when they hunted, Dean always made sure Sam was protected.

But the things Dean was naming off were basic needs.

Dean also remembered the acerbic words of YED's daughter, masquerading as Meg Masters: "Nice…the way you treat your brother like luggage."

Acknowledging that he hadn't always done right by Sam was difficult. For so long, it had been 'Dean, look after your brother.' And Dean thought that's what he had done. But the words tumbling out of Sam's mouth in stilted fashion indicated he might not have always gotten it right.

Sam clumsily raised a hand to his head and groaned. Dean looked down and found Sam squinting up at him. "Dean? What's going on?"

He was afraid to get his hopes up. Sam had ping-ponged between moments of clarity and completely wrecked.

His cell phone rang and he sighed when he saw it was Bobby. "What happened?"

"We burned some of the books…any change?"

Sam was still gazing up at him in confusion, pliable in his arms. "I don't know. He said my name, seems coherent. But…"

"Yeah, he's done that before. I think I'll hang around here for a day or so, just in case. Do me a favor and call me in two hours with an update. And Dean, I'm sorry about…"

"It's okay, Bobby. And you were right. Thanks."

-0-

Sam was trying hard to hang on to some of his most treasured memories. They were mainly with Dean, some with Dean and their dad, and lots with Jess.

Every once in a while his mind blanked when he thought of the blond beauty and it scared him like nothing else could. He couldn't forget her. The love of his life.

"D'n…"

Why couldn't he get his mouth to work? He felt like he had the worst hang-over ever, even worse than last month when he'd gotten into the tequila. His head ached and when he opened his eyes, the lighting sent waves of pain crashing through his skull.

Dean would fix this. Dean always watched out for him.

A wave of guilt flowed through Sam as he thought of the times he'd cussed out Dean under his breath. For being older. For always being right. For being bossy. For being Dad's favorite.

"D'n…"

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get his tongue to wrap around the words and they spilled out of his mouth in a tangle.

An arm curled around him and levered him into a sitting position. He couldn't hold his balance, but the warm arm pulled him closer.

Faith. Sam had faith in Dean. It bothered him that sometimes his older brother didn't seem to feel the same way. But Sam was the youngest. Slower. Uncoordinated. Selfish.

A bright light sparked next to Dean's head, fuzzy. Dean was holding him, talking to him.

But the light. An angel? No, Dean said they didn't exist.

Something popped then clicked into place in his brain.

There was a burning sensation. And he was tired. He hadn't felt this bad since Jess had died, since his dad had died.

Dean's worried face slid into focus. "Dean? What's going on?"

Relief bubbled through Sam's chest. His mind and mouth were working in conjunction again.

"I don't know. He said my name, seems coherent. But…"

Sam couldn't hold his eyes open any longer. He drifted, safe in his brother's arms.

-0-

It had been two weeks since Sam had been felled by the memory erasure spell. After a long, healing sleep, Sam had woken up refreshed, memory intact.

At first Dean had hovered, so used to the cycle of deterioration and awareness that he couldn't bring himself to believe Sam had been cured. Didn't think he could face the disappointment of being proved wrong.

Bobby hadn't been much better. He'd doted on the youngest Winchester, bringing him books and froufrou coffee. Sam had been perplexed by the older hunter's behavior but hadn't questioned it.

In fact Sam had been quiet in general, not really talking unless asked a question. He had been a while getting over the fatigue the spell had left in its wake, and the embarrassment, but at least he was coherent.

And cranky.

They'd left South Dakota and meandered their way down to Texas. Dean thought the warmer weather might do Sam some good and there was a case they could look into. A change of scenes and something else to focus on would be healing for both of them. But that didn't mean Dean would be letting Sam behind the wheel of his car again anytime soon. Or letting him drift off, gazing out of the passenger window. Or, you know, out of his sight in any capacity at all.

Initially Sam had taken these measures for granted, either accepting them as Dean's way of coming to terms with what had happened or just being too tired to do much about it. But as Sam grew stronger and they made the effort of falling back into their usual routines, the cracks in Sam's understanding veneer were starting to show.

"Dean, please. I'm going stir crazy. Can't I just go to the corner and get us some burgers?"

"Why don't you just wait for me to shower, then we'll head out together."

Sam's lips pressed into mutinous lines. "Dean, I'm not a kid. I'm not going to just disappear on you. Or forget who I am. I just want to walk to the corner and back. By myself."

Dean really did want that shower. And a burger. And getting the latter without leaving the TV or having to put pants on was an appealing notion. Maybe he'd forgotten in his anxiety the benefits of having a little brother shaped slave instead of a hostage. And to be fair Sam really had barely been given room to breathe under his and Bobby's attentions for the past couple of weeks. If they were going to be back on the job things would have to return to 'normal' soon anyway.

But he remembered again the fear of those few days, watching his brother slip away from him; the pain of looking into those eyes and not recognising the Sam that looked out of them. Things were still so up in the air and he was not willing to lose the one thing he had left. He couldn't do it.

"Pleeeeaase," Sam wheedled, "I need the air man. I'll only be a couple of minutes."

Against his better judgment, Dean caved. Because even Sam would have a hard time running into trouble on a five minute burger run. Right?

Finis


End file.
